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NWO Golf Links
WHEN THE TEMPERATURE DIPS BELOW 45 DEGREES AND THE WIND IS HOWLING
above 15 mph, it takes a special kind of determination and dedication to head to the
golf course and still partake in our favorite past time. I have found that as a practicing
Golfaholic in Northern Ohio, a golf cart cover is a necessity. There is, however, one
very important piece of golf etiquette that needs to be followed, when utilizing this
amazing invention.
I will never forget that fateful day, a bitter
icy wind descended upon us, as we set
out for our appointed 18-hole round. It
was a late fall day, the trees were barren
of any foliage and the weather was not
conducive to golf, but if the Scots can
play in the bonnie rain and wind, we
could too.
Never fear, our trusty golf cart cover was
securely fastened to provide a safe haven
from the perilous weather. The day was
progressing famously. I was comfortably
ahead in our friendly match, several adult
beverages had been consumed, strictly for
medicinal and warming purposes, mind
you, and we even enjoyed the traditional
hot dog at the turn. Things were going
splendidly until the 12th hole, when my
playing partner decided to turn the tides
of golf and gain an improper advantage.
As wewere snug in our cocoon of comfort,
he turned to me, with a slight sneer on his
face and uttered the phrase that one never
wants to hear, when wrapped inside an
air-tight plastic dome. Those few words
will forever be etched in my mind, and I
hope, no pray, that you never encounter
them in the same circumstance.
“I farted,” he said with a wry smile.
As my brain was trying to comprehend
those words, an overwhelming stench
began to permeate that “hotbox” and
singed my nose hairs. My eyes began
to burn and tears gushed from my eye
sockets, I could not breathe! The air
seemed to be sucked from my lungs. I
was trying not to inhale, but I was fading
fast, I needed oxygen.
My brain was screaming, “MUST GET
AIR!”
As I reached for the zipper of the golf cart
cover, he increased his speed and savored
my misery.
I needed air, NOW, and I needed it BADLY.
I was finally able to unzip the cover and
lean my head out gasping for air like I had
been the subject of a CIA waterboarding.
Like Cheech and Chong screaming
down the fairway, I envisioned the smog
emanating from our cart and most living
things wilting as we passed by, it was
toxic.
OR
Gas Masks?
BRYAN RENIUS
Golf Carts